


Rather Than a Rose in Grace

by kyrilu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Gotcha,” Tony says.  “Last drink before you get your mouth sealed shut -- good idea.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rather Than a Rose in Grace

**Author's Note:**

> The entire basis of this fic basically came from my desire to see Tony putting the muzzle on Loki.
> 
> There is nothing remotely kinky in this fic, however. I don't know whether that's a good thing or not.

“So this is what you want me to make,” Tony says, his finger tracing the penciled figure on paper. He squints at the neat sketch -- _pfft, paper, somebody should’ve given Thor a tablet or something_ \-- eyes taking in the jagged shapes.

“Indeed,” says Thor seriously. “It is a design of the dwarf Brokkr, who fashioned the mighty Mjolnir itself. You are of the blacksmith class like him, and I trust your skills, Man of Iron.”

“And this mask or whatever it is will be able to repress Loki’s magic.”

Thor nods, a firm clench of his head. “The self-same metal that protected you from Loki’s magic is required.”

Tony says, “All right, big guy. On it.” He calls out to JARVIS, sliding the paper on a desk, “Hey, scan this and start copying the design into a file for me. Let’s get cracking.”

“It is wise to make haste,” Thor agrees. “I do not know how much longer Loki shall remain subdued. My presence, for now, is enough to hold him, but I do not know whether or not he will stay forever amiable until our departure. I am eternally grateful for your help, Stark.”

“No biggie. Somebody’s got to make this thing.” Tony makes a show of cracking his knuckles. “Give me a couple of hours, and I think I can whip it up just in time for dinner.”

Thor gives Tony a smile -- a little sad, that one is (of course he is, who is Tony kidding) -- and he walks out of the room, his posture dipped forward.

JARVIS dims the lights then, bringing up a screen of the muzzle design.

“How much vibranium do you think we need?” Tony asks. A lot of the muzzle really seems for show, not for practicality, but he’ll roll with it anyways, what the hell.

“I’ll start the calculations, sir.”

*

The muzzle is almost done, vibranium hammered into the sleek and graceful form that was illustrated on paper. Tony regards it approvingly, admiring the lines and the curves. That Asgardian dwarf of Thor’s sure knows his shit.

“One last thing, sir,” says JARVIS.

Tony sighs. “I know. Gotta get the dog’s leash fitted. Call up Thor for me, will ya? Tell him to bring up Loki.”

“Already done, sir.”

Minutes later, Thor strides through the door. His hands are wound tightly around Loki’s, hands that are bound with handcuffs. “Is the restraint finished, Man of Iron?” he says. He looks tired, more frustrated from before, and Loki doesn’t even seem to register Thor’s presence properly.

“Not yet, actually,” Tony says, tapping at the metal, and a bright metal _ping_ bounces clearly across the workshop. “I have to fit it on his face -- have to scan his size, adjust it, all that jazz. This’ll take a while.”

His eyes are on Loki as he says this, but the Norse god merely gazes cooly back at him, hard as steel.

“Go get some rest,” Tony says to Thor. “You’ve been on guard duty for hours, y’know. I’ll be taking over from here. I can call up my suit or Cap if he starts any trouble. You really need some shut-eye, dude.”

Thor blinks. “Are you certain, Stark?”

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”

“Very well,” Thor says. “I will rest. Farewell, Man of Iron. Farewell, brother.” The last sentence is more hesitant, and Tony sees Loki almost unnoticeably stiffen at the word _brother_. Thor lumbers outside, the door swinging shut behind him.

Well. Family problems. Fuck, he’s been there, but at least he didn’t have quite the nerve to traipse around the world decrying freedom and all that crap. Or ripping out people’s eyeballs, because ew.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Tony says into the silence, gesturing towards a workshop bench. “This is gonna take some time. Hey, didja want your drink?”

“That is acceptable,” Loki says, _finally_ ; he sits down on the bench, eyes panning the rest of the workshop.

“Gotcha,” Tony says. “Last drink before you get your mouth sealed shut -- good idea.”

In response, he receives a heated glare. “Watch your mouth, Stark,” Loki hisses. “Or have you forgotten that my magic still remains and your contraption is not in place?”

Tony shrugs and ambles over to the minibar, fetching two shot glasses and mixing up something quick and strong that’ll get things going. “You wouldn’t dare, Liesmith,” he says. Like the gracious captor he is, he removes Loki’s handcuffs, then holds the drink out to Loki.

Loki’s fingers curl over the drink (his hand is surprisingly graceful, despite the red welts on his wrists), and Tony thinks it’s his imagination when it _chills_ , a thin patch of white-blue ice forming on the inside of the glass. He blinks, but it’s still _there._

“That was magic,” he says.

“Your mortal drinks are too warm for my tastes,” Loki replies, simply, bringing the shot glass to his lips and downing it in one go. “Now. I believe you have a duty to perform, yes?”

Tony clears his throat. “Yeah. I do. C’mere.”

Loki acedes; he edges closer to Tony, placing the empty glass on the floor. Tony thinks: _Huh, all right, he’s going along with this._

He hooks a finger under Loki’s jaw, tilting the trickster’s face upwards. Then he presses the muzzle against skin, the metal cold in his hands -- Loki’s skin is even colder -- and he sets off into work, Loki’s breath on his fingers.

Eventually, Tony snaps the faceplate into place. “There you go,” he says, rubbing at a metal clasp in the back, checking to see if it’s stable. “Can you do your mojo now?”

Loki tilts his head sideways, which Tony takes as a no.

Then there’s _panic_ creeping into Loki’s eyes. His eyes redden, glowing bright, what the fuck, and his skin is starting to take on a bluish tinge.

“Whoa, whoa, what the hell!” Tony yelps, starting to back up, and it’s obvious that Loki can’t get a handle on whatever the fuck he’s transforming into. He reaches for his suit, barking out for JARVIS--

A freezing touch holds him still, and Tony stops.

Loki raises his hands to the muzzle. He mimes loosening it; he can’t break it, even if this new weird version. Shakily, Tony threads a finger through a strap and _pulls_ , the back of his hand brushing against Loki’s hair. His hand lingers on Loki’s neck, cold biting at his skin.

The blue recedes, and the red follows soon after.

Tony stares at the half-mask, and says in a suggestive drawl, “Well. So, not too tight, then.”

Loki’s already recovered from the transformation. His eyes are bright, glittering with amusement, and Tony hears a muffled laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny. It’d be nice if you dropped me a warning about the surprise snowman, though.”

Loki cocks his head sideways. His cheekbones are upturned: a smile, Tony recognizes. 

_Consider this a thank you_ , a barely audible voice whispers into his mind, and Tony tastes metal on his mouth next, the muzzle pressing against his teeth, and a hand crawls up the front of his shirt, clawing at his arc reactor--

Tony closes his hand around Loki’s. “Nuh-uh, Loki. It takes more than a kiss to throw me off guard. Nice try, though.”

Again: upturned cheekbones, bright eyes. Like Tony’s issued a challenge.

Tony clears his throat, resisting the urge to touch his mouth; he can taste blood and cold and _Loki_ on his tongue. “Crazy bastard. Let’s go get your older bro, okay?” He raps his knuckles on the muzzle, and Loki merely raises an eyebrow. He’s probably still smirking right now, dammit.

Thor comes, and takes Loki away to be locked up until they’ll be sent back to Asgard. 

When the door shuts behind them, Tony reaches for his drink, and downs it in one gulp.

So.

What the fuck just happened?

*

  


_I am trusted with a muzzle and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in my cage. If I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking. In the meantime, let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me._  


“Much Ado About Nothing”, Act I Scene III.


End file.
